


Press X To Talk

by marianhawkes



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adaar - Freeform, Angst, Conflict, Dialogue Heavy, Drabble Collection, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, Dragon Age Inquisition, Emotionally Repressed Hawke Tries To Not Be Such A Mess And Fails, Fluff, Hawke is Bad at Feelings, Humour, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Crying, Mentioned Bethany Hawke, Red-Purple Hawke, Religious Conflict, Trevelyan - Freeform, cadash - Freeform, lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marianhawkes/pseuds/marianhawkes
Summary: A series of conversations between the heroes of Thedas, and the people closest to them.





	1. Hawke, Leandra

“You can just say it, you know.”

Her legs were drawn close to her chest, eyes stinging as she stared into the fire. She stretched her neck back to look at her mother, who was, as always, avoiding eye contact. Twitching her foot. Staying silent. Restless, Liara got to her feet and moved back from the pathetic little fireplace, feeling hot and sweaty and agitated, feeling wound up like a spring, ready to face the truth she’d known since they got here, ready to hear it out loud for once. She couldn’t take another second in this house with her brother pacing and her uncle yelling and her mother standing there like a piece of furniture, one of those frustrating antiques that stayed and gathered dust because they were damn near impossible to move, and you’d convince yourself that they might be worth something after a while - they wouldn’t be. She gave her mother a piercing look, folding her arms across her chest. She didn’t want to raise her voice.

No. Of course she did.

“Oh, just say it! Just say it! Just _look_ at me!”

Leandra’s gaze was fixed on the fire - the one flickering on the hearth, not the one in her daughter.

“Tell me it was my fault! Tell me it was all my fault, go on. I know that’s what you think, I know that’s what you _all_ think. Poor, sweet Bethany left her sister’s protection for one second and look what happened! Out of all the children you could lose, it had to be the darling little angel who barely spoke ‘til she was three and- and helped out with the flowers in the garden, little Bethany who was father’s baby girl. Go on, mother. Tell me it was my fault she had her head smashed in against the rocks, tell me it was my fault she got killed and you were left behind with _me_ and-”

“You shouldn’t have let her go!” Liara jerked back like she’d been hit, as her mother lashed around and, finally, after over a year, blamed her. “You knew that thing would have killed her, you knew she couldn’t face it by herself, and you let her run out there and die. You girls were best friends. How could you have let that happen? How could you just stand there and watch her run?”

“I didn’t see Carver rushing to her defence,” she shot back. She knew it wasn’t his fault, she knew he couldn’t have caught her on time, knew it wasn’t him who promised to keep an eye on her. Bethany’s twin had always known she didn’t need someone to mind her. But she needed an argument. She’d been having this one in her head for weeks and it was eating her up inside. “And if you’re that broken up about it all, you could at least try and make her death worth something! You let your children work in servitude _, your_ children, and what have you done to help us?”

“You knew the price, Liara. You were happy enough to pay it, we had no other choice.”

“But you do. You could find work, find something, you could have done anything to help us pay off the debt, but you’ve been standing there all this time and staring into that fire like it’s going to _bring her back!”_ She was really yelling now, heart pounding in her throat, fists clenched tight.

Her mother recoiled, staring at her with eyes full of venom. Liara had only seen this look in flashes before, only seen traces of it on her mother’s face, but this was different. This was all of her bottled-up hatred right in front of her, staring her down, and it wasn’t going anywhere. “I know I can’t bring her back. I know I can’t fix any of this, never could, that’s something you don’t understand. Look at you, all dressed up and ready to take on the world, you don’t understand what it’s like to be spat on. You made a good name for yourself with the mercenaries, even when we were at our lowest, you never had to stoop this far. I did. You’re a mage, a good one, young, talented, a fighter. Me? What use would I be, practically an old woman in their eyes, a refugee on top of that, a refugee who used to belong here? Of course I blame you, Liara. You, you of all of us had the power to stop my little girl from dying.”

“And while you were sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, your other little girl died too, and you didn’t even notice. I grew up while your back was turned, you never even said goodbye, never even tried. You think this hasn’t been hard for me too?”

“How would I know? You never even say her name!”

“Better to never say it than to say it all the time, every conversation, every time things turn up you have to bring her right back up again - _oh, if only Bethany were here to see this -_ she’s a ghost in this damn house because of you! You talk about her so much that she might as well still be here! And her memory would probably make us more coin than you’ve ever…”

Her blood cooled. Her words left her. She saw the hurt in her mother’s eyes and bit her tongue, knowing she’d gone too far, knowing she’d started off that way and had just kept on going. It hadn’t helped. She didn’t feel better, she didn’t feel any weight off her chest, she just felt hot and sick and angry, felt diseased somehow, tasting her words like bile in her mouth. Before her mother could speak, Liara turned and left before she suffocated on air that had once been easy to breathe.


	2. Embry, Cassandra

The drunk Seeker took an unsteady step towards the most powerful woman in Thedas, faltered, and glared. Her hands clenched into fists, but she didn't swing. Her eyes were sharp as daggers but as much as she longed to kill the damn elf, she wouldn't dare. Alcohol rushed like blood through her head, setting her cheeks aflame as she stared down the mighty Inquisitor, stomach flipping in revulsion at her pointed ears, her tattoos - she'd dared and hoped to believe that Andraste could have sent an elf, even one as stubborn and afraid as Embry Lavellan. Maker, how could she have been so wrong?

“All of this,” Cassandra spat, “And I was the one who raised you up in the first place. I made you, a Dalish apostate, the most powerful woman in Thedas, I-”

“Am I supposed to be grateful for that?!” Embry snapped. “I didn’t ask for this! You knew, you _knew_ I didn’t want this, you knew I never should have had a part to play in this beyond closing the Breach. It should have been you! You, or Leliana, or Hawke, or anybody else! You knew what you were doing when you started the Inquisition, you knew what the damn word _meant_ , you had a choice and you made _me_ a leader, as if I knew what any of that meant, as if I knew what I was doing! Did you really think a Dalish apostate from the Free Marches could ever save you from this mess you’ve made, Cassandra?! How could you have let me stand there, knowing that everything you’ve ever built makes my skin crawl?”

“Then why did you stay?” She demanded. “You tried to run, I _saw_ you, you could have left us all behind in those mountains, and yet you remained, you let things go this far. Why?!”

“Because I don’t have anything to go back to!” She thundered. “Your Inquisition made sure of that, didn’t they? Where else was I supposed to run, with no clan, no family, what else was I supposed to do?! I joined you because I could close the Breach, I could do something that no one else in the world could do, everything beyond that is all on you. And you knew I wouldn’t stand a chance. You knew, all this time you knew, but all you ever cared about was yourself, your faith, never mind what the knife-ear thinks, as long as you believed it was Andraste who sent me here, you thought you could make me your puppet for as long as you liked, and look at where it’s got us!”

“But you came back,” Cassandra croaked. “You faced that monster and you survived, against all odds, you-”

“Don’t.” Her anger was electric, humming through her like static, like energy. “You let me face that monster on my own, you told yourself that Andraste would watch over me while I faced down a creature more powerful than your useless Maker - and look what it did to me! Andraste didn’t tell me to stay and face him, I did that because there was no other choice! She didn’t tell me to beg and scream for the agony to stop, either, but that monster forced me anyway. And when I stood there and made the decision to bury Haven for _your_ sake, to save _you_ and your pathetic shem followers, I did it, because I wanted to believe it was what I was sent for. But it wasn’t heroic, it wasn’t divine, it was just _cold_. All those deaths, all those people dropping like flies on my orders, that was all on me, I did what I had to, Cassandra! And Andraste, she doesn’t care, never did. If she really exists, I'm sure she's got the same twisted sense of humour as your Maker. Because you stood back while that monster looked me in the eyes and told me the seat of the Maker was empty, and all I felt was regret on _your_ behalf. Your holy Inquisition killed everything I have, killed everything I was, and you’re asking me to thank you for putting me here? No. I _hate_ you for this. You can scribble down all the bullshit you’d like historians to know, but Sylaise guide me, I will let the world know that all their saviour ever wanted was to go home. Never, ever forget what you took from me."

"How could I? Every day I'm forced to watch you make a greater mess of everything you've been given, every day you bluster and complain about the  _unfairness_ of it all. I may share some of the blame in what has come to pass, but how can you call yourself innocent of everything that's followed? How could you coddle the mages, encourage them as if they didn't almost cost us everything, and then you pushed them to the brink of yet another rebellion because you couldn't keep a hold of your temper long enough to think of its consequences. You spit in the faces of people who revere you - for so many, you are their only beacon of light, and you find yourself incapable of swallowing your pride long enough to at least  _pretend_ you give a damn about their faith! Corypheus yet lives, and you spend your time studying tomes with that damn apostate - you and Solas against the world, wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Tell me, Inquisitor, did you really think your plan would work? Do you think that if you'd run off into hiding with that man, the people would have risked their lives against Corypheus, for a leader they couldn't even see? Oh, what am I even saying? I shouldn't assume that you ever even considered it. Maker, I am such a fool."

"Looks like we're all fools here," the Inquisitor echoed, remembering a time she'd said the same thing, with a smile on her face, over a round of drinks, after an argument that she thought didn't matter anymore. "I'll leave you to your self-pity, Cassandra."


End file.
